


Cornerstone

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Forced Bonding, Humor, M/M, Manipulation, Slow Build, Snark, bitter angry men, snarody, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: As the magic trickled from one brick to many, their relationship grew - in fits and starts, slowly... (Even as it was encumbered by snark, angry sex, and a madman who wanted them dead.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> QUICK NOTE: As it turns out, the formatting for ch. 2 is all fucked up. That may be why I haven't imported this before. I will work on it later, hopefully this evening. I'm sorry for not being able to put it all up at once.  
> DEDICATION: A fic for the_kinky_pet.  
> BETAS and BUILDERS: Lots of thanks go to my betas and builders; dartmouthtongue, whose invaluable encouragement and advice led to many improvements, and empathic_siren whose high standards and thoughtful insights kept this from being just another cheap humor fic, and jadzia7667, who had some beautiful suggestions and useful research. (And thank you SO MUCH for the summary!)  
> NOTES: This is sort of my Snarody of the forced bond storyline, although I’ve already done a parody in the Remus/Harry (lengthy) fic, Research and Development, as well as Stalks and Bonds and Bound and Determined, so it’s very difficult to keep using the same plot device and be original. I tried my best, but I wouldn’t describe it as a pure parody.

"It will symbolise a new start—a coming together of enemies. A healing."

"It’ll symbolise how you can do any bloody thing you please," Harry snarled back. "This isn’t a ‘healing,’ this is a power play!"

Scrimgeour’s smile crystallised. "It is whatever it _looks_ like. You greatly underestimate the power of...of..." He faltered.

"Propaganda?" Snape spat, looking sour.

"Optimistic suggestions. You are both very powerful men, and it would make the entire Wizarding world sleep more comfortably. And don’t forget what’s at stake, Mr. Snape. I do hope I have _your_ cooperation, at least."

"A choice between Potter and Azkaban? Either way I’m likely to slit my wrists before a year is up."

Harry was pale. "I—I don’t...I wouldn’t even know...what to do."

Snape looked at the Minister, gesturing impatiently to Harry. "You see? You really think this would be a good idea? I’m _not_ buggering a little boy!"

"But the Wizarding world—"

"Can go bugger _itself_!" Snape snapped, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

"I was NOT talking about my virginity!" Harry broke in. "I _meant_ that I don’t know how the spell works!"

"But you _are_ a virgin?" Scrimgeour asked, his eyes showing a flicker of worry.

Harry blushed at least eight shades of red, and Snape counted them off in his head. _Tomato, ruby, rose, crimson, magenta, maroon, scarlet..._

"...Snape?"

"Vermillion," he replied without thinking.

"What?"

"I...what?"

"I asked if _you_ were a virgin, since one of us apparently has to be, and I can’t imagine anyone wanting to shag you, and you answered, ‘vermillion,’ and I don’t even know what that _means._ Is that a yes? Isn’t vermillion a kind of cloth?"

" _What?_ No. It’s the shade of red that appears just beneath your jaw line when you’re embarrassed," he answered. "And no, I’m not a virgin, you nasty little snot. Not since I was younger than you are now, and I’ve kept regular sexual company over the years."

Harry scowled. "I suppose anything can be bought for a price."

Snape’s lip lifted a little in contempt. "True, but even then I was expensive."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"There, you see? You already bicker like you’ve been married twenty years. You’re going through with this." Both men opened their mouths, but Scrimgeour leant forward in his chair. "Or I’ll see Severus Snape hang."

Harry recoiled. "You can’t do that!"

"What would you care to wager, Mr. Potter? The rest of the Wizarding world would be happy, should I decide to do it. They don’t know the full story. They don’t know anything about Dumbledore’s final instructions. All they know is what they’ve seen and heard from you _._ Like you, they jumped to conclusions. They would be relieved to see him dead—might even try to take him down themselves. All I have to do is turn my back long enough. I wouldn’t even have to get my hands dirty."

"Don’t you have any integrity?"

The Minister held up his hands. "You saw what remained of Lucius after they got to him."

Snape paled. He hadn’t seen, but he’d heard that a guard let the public into the man’s cell, and turned his or her back throughout Malfoy’s screams.

"You wouldn’t." Harry’s voice was rough.

"It can be stopped. But that kind of magic takes time. Someone the public already trusts must stand with him. That will halt the initial momentum. Then the story can be told—in bits and pieces, of course. Reluctantly. I’m sure it weighs heavily in the public’s mind how Lucius leapt to claim innocence. Better to court them; be shy, be charming. Then when the waters are sufficiently muddied, he might make overtures of penance. Visit the white tomb, for one thing. Cry, if he can."

Snape shook his head in a haze of awe and revulsion. "Politics," he said with disgust. "And then?"

"Then we begin rebuilding you. A model citizen with an unfortunate past. You’ll never hold office, but with Potter by your side, everyone will begin to breathe easier. They’ll be reminded of the possibilities of redemption—mercy. The sporadic attempts at violent retribution will stop."

Snape looked away, and Harry looked down at his hands.

"It wasn’t even a Death Eater, last time. By all accounts, Narcissa Malfoy had no knowledge of her husband’s activities."

"She should have done," Harry mumbled.

"I suppose her death was _just,_ then?" Snape growled.

Harry shook his head hard. "No, it’s only that..."

"The current climate is disturbingly unstable right now. The people want revenge. If they don’t have someone on which to perform it, they stand about outside the Ministry screaming and making a scene, demanding to know why the madman wasn’t stopped sooner."

"And whose fault is that?" Harry asked.

"They look less for villains than for excuses," Scrimgeour noted coldly. "The latest word is that people are wondering why Miss Weasley was allowed to walk free after the incident of the diary. There are rumours that she was a double agent."

Harry paled. "You’ve got me coming and going, haven’t you?"

"And twisting in the wind, yes; that was the general idea."

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the man. "What exactly do we have to do?"

OoOoOoOoO

 

"I’m _not_ wearing this!" Harry nearly shrieked, thrusting the—the _thing_ away in horror.

"What the devil is your problem _now_?" Snape demanded through gritted teeth, adjusting his collar a little.

"It’s _white_."

"That’s because you’re the _virgin._ Remember?"

"Snape. I know how wizards love their freaky outerwear. I know how they like to feel their silky robes fluttering against their ankles. But a _long white robe_ makes me look like a _girl._ On her wedding day."

"It _is_ your wedding day, and you _are_ going to be the bottom."

"I don’t remember discussing that, and it’s not a wedding. It’s—it’s—" he groped for the right words, "—a non-traditional, magical and civil ceremony uniting two people."

The expression on Snape’s face was dangerously close to a smirk. "Yes. That’s a euphemism for _wedding,_ Potter. _Marriage._ Long-term commitment which results in the sharing of property, the right to file taxes together, and numerous drooling infants."

Harry looked horrified, and Snape couldn’t help feeling a little cheered. He may be stuck with a blockheaded runt for a life-partner, but at least he was an easily tormented, blockheaded runt.

"Infants?"

"Yes. That’s another term for baby, in case you didn’t know."

"B—but— _babies?_ We can’t even do that!"

"It’s within the realm of possibility," Snape told him innocently. It was unlikely—only extremely powerful wizards were able to modify their own bodies in such a way as to produce children—but he loved watching Potter squirm.

"It is?"

"Oh, yes. Quite the mystery, actually. It doesn’t happen often, but no one has been able to fully explain the concept—or rather the conception. The rest is all more or less the usual."

"I think I’m going to be sick."

"Really? Morning sickness, do you think?"

"Shut _up,_ Snape! We’ve barely been in the same room five minutes, and you haven’t touched me!"

Snape played with his cuffs, shrugging a little. "You could be exceptionally fertile," he replied with nonchalance.

"I really, really hate you."

Snape glanced up to see Potter white as a sheet. He had a moment of misgiving. Like it or not, he’d be stuck with Potter, and the boy really _was_ incredibly powerful. And at the moment, one of his powers was to make Snape’s life even more difficult than Snape could make his. "I was only baiting you," the man muttered.

"Stuff it," Harry replied, but the tension in his shoulders lessened just a little. He yanked the robe on over his head, turned and looked in the mirror, and suddenly his earlier blush was back full force. The pink even crept down his chest, and Snape’s eye followed the tinge down to where it slipped down and hid shyly behind Harry’s collar. "Oh, my god," Harry moaned. "I look like a creepy little boy playing dress up in his mother’s old wedding gown."

He did rather swim in the robes, but he’d always been small. Snape pulled out his wand, lightly drawing it down Harry’s spine, making the boy shiver. " _Contractus_. There—at least it fits a little better now."

Potter fidgeted, pulling at the fabric, looking almost as though he’d rather have had more room. "Thanks," he muttered, glancing in the mirror. I guess it doesn’t look so much like a dress anymore."

Snape looked at him thoughtfully. "That’s the first spell I’ve performed since they returned my wand."

Harry’s expression said he didn’t know what to think. "Oh. Well...um, are we ready?"

"If we must," Snape sighed.

"I’m afraid so."

OoOoOoOoO

 

The binding would have gone better, Snape later reflected, with fewer interruptions. But Potter wouldn’t shut up, and Snape simply couldn’t help it.

"Now join hands," the Minister told them.

"I really hate you," Harry interjected.

They both looked at him.

"Yes, both of you. But I mostly meant Snape. As bad as you are, Minister, at least I’m not marrying you."

"It’s not a marriage. It’s a non-traditional, magical and civil ceremony uniting two people," Snape informed him with a fleeting, dry smile.

Harry scowled. "Oh, you’re a riot, you are."

"Give me your hand, you thoroughly bothersome twit."

Harry thrust it at him with a weary sigh. "Just get it over with. Make it quick, like...surgery."

Scrimgeour arched a brow. "It can’t be done quickly, Mr. Potter. It has to be done correctly, which is more important."

Harry groaned.

"We can amputate bits of you later, if you like. Your tongue, for example," Snape suggested. "It would make _my_ life a great deal easier."

"Wand in your left hand, Mr. Snape."

"I dislike the ‘Mr.’ bit," Snape put in. "It doesn’t carry the weight of ‘Professor.’"

"Then you shouldn’t have run off from the job," Harry retorted.

"Wand in your right hand, Mr. Potter."

"I earned the right to the title, Potter."

"The goblet, gentlemen," Scrimgeour interrupted, sounding slightly exasperated.

"What’s in that? I’m not drinking it," Harry said, sounding panicked.

"Stop being an imbecile," Snape commanded. He knew exactly what was in it, having brewed it himself. The only ingredient he felt qualms about was the aphrodisiac, but if he _had_ to bugger Potter, he’d need all the incentive he could get. And while he knew, intellectually, that his life depended on it, he doubted his cock cared. He suspected it would be beneficial for Potter as well, but knew better than to try to argue about it.

The Minister lifted the silver chalice to Snape’s lips first, and Snape drank deeply, feeling the warmth and tingle of the magically-tinged mulled wine as it played on it his palate.

Harry’s eyes were wide as the chalice was pressed to his lips, but he took a quick gulp. "Blech. God, that’s sweet."

"Not as sweet as your lips, dearest," Snape said wryly, just to see Harry’s face roar with flaming embarrassment again.

"Enough," Scrimgeour told them shortly; bushy eyebrows lowering, yellow eyes filled with rebuke and promises of retribution.

"Oh, very well," Snape huffed.

"Kneel."

"I feel like I’m being knighted," Harry commented, and Snape couldn’t tell if it was merely an observation or a complaint. "I _should_ be knighted, after all I’ve done."

"You _want_ the Minister with a sword near your neck?"

Scrimgeour plunked down a brick between them, and Harry stared at it.

"What the hell is _that?_ "

"It’s...the focus," Snape explained rather reluctantly. "It will hold the protective spell."

"Place the tips of your wand on the brick, gentlemen," Scrimgeour instructed. They both complied, and the man added, "Put your energy into the stone, please."

Snape’s wand tip glowed, but Harry looked baffled. "How do I do _that?_ "

The Minister sighed. "Do you know the feeling you get just before you perform a spell?"

"I never really noticed any feeling," Harry said truthfully.

"Concentrate. Pretend you’re going to perform a minor spell. Say the words to it in your head, and visualize the spell working. When you are ready to say the spell, concentrate on the brick, and let your magic out."

"That sounds stupid," Harry complained.

"You haven’t even attempted it, and already you’re disparaging it," Snape grumbled.

Harry made a face at the man, but turned his attention back to the brick. Although he was decent at nonverbal spells, there really wasn’t any risk he’d manage one without meaning to, so he glared at the brick and thought ‘ _Lumos’_ several times. He shut his eyes for a moment and let the spell reach the tip of his tongue.

To his surprise, he felt the magic well up inside of him, giving him a rush of adrenaline and anticipation. He let out a shaky breath and jerked his arm a bit. His wand tip glowed for just a moment, and then the unearthly light seemed to sink into the stone.

"I think I did it!" he said excitedly.

"Wonderful. Shall the Minister award you points?" Snape asked with a lift of his lip.

Harry glowered. "Hey, that wasn’t bad at all, considering I’ve never done it before and had no idea what you were talking about in the first place. I’ll bet _you_ didn’t learn that sort of thing so quickly."

"Oh, yes. Marvellous Potter and his astonishing powers, even when he’s a novice. I’ll just run and get my shrine and light a few candles," Snape told him dismissively.

"Both of you _shut up!_ " Scrimgeour finally roared.

They fell into a sullen silence as the Minister performed the spell to imbue the protective spell within the stone, his words carrying a soft, electric current of magic which wound round them. It felt to Snape like an invisible blanket had fallen over himself and Potter, warm and slightly tinged with static. Harry’s hand tightened on his own, and the magic seemed to settle across their shoulders like a mantle. Snape resisted the urge to pull Potter closer, put an arm around him, snuggle into the weight of the spell. It felt strangely as though no one else existed; Harry and Snape were alone, huddled together in a pocket of warmth, ignoring the chill outside their small, cosy space.

As soon as the words stopped, Snape jerked his hand away from Potter’s, gulping for breath. He stood abruptly, trying to achieve some sort of sense of space, of room to move. Harry huddled on the floor a moment longer, looking uncomfortable and overheated.

"Congratulations, gentlemen," Scrimgeour told them.

"That’s it? Can we leave, then?"

"I’ll want you back in a few days for an interview with The Prophet, but for now, you may go."

Snape didn’t offer Harry a hand up, but picked up the brick and made for the door. Potter would follow; he had no choice. Snape supposed he should get the boy home, and quickly. The effects of the mulled wine were already making themselves felt in Snape’s stomach, a ball of heat there that would shortly spread.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, hurrying to catch up, nearly treading on Snape’s heels.

Snape managed a bitter smile. "Our honeymoon," he replied.

Harry blushed again.

Snape decided to challenge himself to make Potter do so at least a dozen times a day. He turned away with a sigh. At least he’d have a hobby.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry felt warm. Really warm. And _good._ He stumbled along behind Snape, barely feeling the cold rain that ran down the back of his neck. He kept sneaking glances at Snape, bemused by the way the water plastered his hair down and dripped off the end of his nose.

"You’re all wet," he noted. Oddly, his voice seemed to be coming from far away.

Snape glanced at him in surprise. "So are you," he replied in a grudging way. "I don’t have a Floo, though. Would you trust me enough to try side-along Apparition?"

Harry shrugged a little, his thought process sluggish. "Better than drowning, I guess," he said.

Snape peered at him closely. Harry blinked abstractedly, lost in contemplating Snape’s gaze. "I think the dosage might have been a little much for you," he mumbled.

Harry shook himself from his preoccupation. "Eh?"

"Nothing. Come here." Snape took his elbow, not unkindly. "Ready?"

Before Harry could answer, they were Apparating. Harry found himself on a seedy street lined with squalid brick buildings, most of them appearing to be abandoned. "Where are we?" he mumbled, rubbing his temples. The squeeze of Apparition had given him the beginnings of a headache.

Snape marched down the street to a building identical to most of the others and opened the front door. "Welcome home," he said sardonically.

Harry shuddered as he followed the man inside.

"Cold?"

His quiver had been more due to the despair of his new surroundings than because of the rain, but Harry nodded anyway.

"We should take off your dress. It’s wet."

"It isn’t a _dress,_ " Harry grated.

Snape wore a faint smirk as he reached out to undo the buttons on Harry’s collar, causing the boy to step back with a small noise of protest. "It hardly makes any difference, Potter. You do know that your robes are so sodden as to be nearly transparent?"

Harry looked down and swallowed. "Shut up." He turned away. "Can’t you do something useful? Like get me some other robes?"

"That makes five today." He crossed the room and set the brick on the mantle.

"Huh?"

"Five times your face has turned so red it’s a wonder it hasn’t burst into flames."

"Snape—"

"Never mind. Follow me."

Harry watched in fascination as the bookcase slid back, and reluctantly followed the man upstairs. "Where are we going?"

"To warm you up."

Something in Snape’s voice, something shadowy and amused, gave Harry pause. "I’m not really cold," he protested weakly.

"No. But that’s the potion in the wine. And it doesn’t prevent pneumonia, so it’s better to get you out of those drenched robes."

They stopped outside a small bedroom, and Snape gestured Harry to go in. He could barely turn around, with Snape in the room as well. Harry began to feel claustrophobic, looking from the bed to the tiny window to the wardrobe. "I—I really can’t—"

"We must," Snape told him.

"I don’t want to," Harry objected.

"Don’t _whine_ ," Snape scolded. "It won’t do any good. Nothing will do any good. Just—just—take it like a man." He reached for the front of Harry’s robes again and Harry jerked away. The back of his legs hit the bed and he sat down hard.

"I don’t want to," he grunted, scooting back until he was against the headboard. "Please." He shut his eyes, feeling dizzy and frightened. Worst of all, he felt strangely aroused. Did he enjoy the idea of being raped, or did he just like to be chased? Either thought was more than unsettling.

He felt the bed dip as Snape sat beside him. Nothing further happened, and Harry cautiously opened his eyes. "We can do this one of two ways. I can immobilize you, have my way with you, and have to watch my back for the rest of my—likely rather short—life, or I could try to take a few minutes beforehand to convince you that it will be fine. And I don’t know how to do that, or even if it would be the truth. And in either case, we only have a few hours in which to...get it over."

"Why only a few hours?" Harry asked, pained.

"Because the potion will have left our bloodstream and been mostly purged from our bodies by then."

"What potion!?"

"The one in the chalice, you mentally deficient—er. Apologies. Habit."

Harry sighed. "Is this going to hurt?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Not entirely, but I can assure you that I’m not a _complete_ sadist."

"Thanks for putting my mind at ease," Harry responded sarcastically.

Snape reached out yet again, but though Harry shied away, the man didn’t attempt to undress him. Instead he took Harry’s face in his hands and simply held it in place for a long moment.

Harry felt his face heating and grimaced, trying to stop the inexorable flush.

"Six," Snape breathed.

"Yes, I know," Harry snapped. "I’m painfully aware of the exact number, and I will probably continue to follow the count, thanks to you."

One of Snape’s hands moved just a little, his thumb briefly brushing over Harry’s lip. "It’s not all bad," he murmured. "Your skin is very warm, very soft."

Harry bit back a defensive retort. Snape was actually being _nice,_ and as such, should probably be encouraged. That meant not deriding his looks, intelligence and ancestry, however much Harry wanted to. Instead Harry let out a long, shuddering breath.

Snape’s thumb hesitantly touched his lower lip again, stroking it gently. It felt smooth and slightly cool, rather nice against Harry’s overheated skin.

"Will people know about this? Is the Ministry going to...like, check for blood on the bed sheets?" Harry inquired.

Snape arched a brow. "Unless I do something _drastically_ wrong, there shouldn’t be any blood on the bed sheets."

Harry glowered. "I don’t like any of this. I don’t—I _won’t_ do this. I’d rather die."

"You’re not the one in danger," Snape growled. He stood abruptly, and Harry realized how cold it was without the man’s hands cradling his face. "But if that is what you wish, then I’ll abide by it." He turned to go.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Harry demanded, alarmed.

"To get a drink. Come get me if you change your mind."

He strode out of the room and Harry pulled his knees up to his chest. He didn’t want to sleep with Snape, except for the bizarre reaction his body seemed to be having to the whole situation. Logic told him that there was no more disgusting act that he could perpetrate, short of something with livestock or vomit, but his prick, defiantly stiff beneath his chilled, damp robes, said it wouldn’t mind Severus Snape one damn bit.

And it would probably mean saving Snape’s life. Probably. Maybe. With the way the public was, these days. It was a witch-hunt, never mind the skewed expression, and though it was Scrimgeour’s fault, it would end in Snape’s death if Harry didn’t do anything.

He let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead on his knees. Suddenly the small room seemed strangely too large. He hated being stuck in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar things. The room was spartanly devoid of personality, and Harry felt himself growing more depressed as he looked around. Snape had a personality; why didn’t his bedroom? Where were the jars of creepy dead things Snape held so dear to his heart? Where were the silver sconces encrusted with candle wax? Where were the shades of black and deep green and even deeper purple?

Harry wondered if he’d be around long enough to do a bit of redecorating.

He swung his feet off the bed and stood with a sigh. He had to remember that this wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t about what he wanted. Much like the rest of his miserable existence.

Harry crept downstairs, feeling a bit like a trespasser. But Snape had brought him here, and he was expected to stay, wasn’t he? So this was going to be home from now on or at least for a while. He shuddered a bit at the thought.

A roaring fire had been built up in the study, and Harry stopped in the dark room, watching the flames leap and lick at the grate. "Snape?" His voice came out sounding flimsy and vulnerable. He cleared his throat and tried again more loudly. "Snape?"

"What is it _now,_ you despicable, self-absorbed vermin? I’m occupied with a brandy older than yourself, and it makes better company. If you wish to leave, you know where to find the front door."

Harry plodded into the room and found the man hunched in an armchair, regarding the fire with a brooding air. Harry shifted awkwardly before coming to stand nearby. "I—I’m ready. To get it over with, I mean. The—er, sex bits."

"Despite the poignant words which flow from your silver tongue, I’ve decided _I’d_ rather die," Snape replied spitefully.

"Oh, for—look, don’t be like this. You can hardly blame me for being a bit unenthusiastic about the whole thing."

Snape ignored him, not answering.

Harry was beginning to feel panicked. How much time did they have left? Could they really afford to waste it sulking and snarking? He knew they could keep that sort of thing up all night, if he didn’t figure out a way around it. After a few interminable moments, he knelt by Snape’s chair, resting his chin on the arm.

The man flicked a glance at him. "It’s not exactly my dream come true either," Snape pointed out.

Harry managed a weak smile. "Yeah, I can see that. But—I mean—it’s not _that_ bad, right? You even said upstairs that I had warm, soft skin."

Snape’s eyebrows rose. "Oh, yes. And when they ask me what I see in you, I’ll say, ‘He’s insufferably stubborn, his stupidity takes my breath away, his arrogance is on par with a minor deity, between his dishevelled hair and permanently vacant expression he could hardly be called remotely attractive, and he has the table manners of a feral warthog, but by god, his skin is warm and soft.’"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I’m making an effort. Come on; meet me halfway."

Snape slugged back his drink and smacked it down on the side table. "No."

Feeling nonplussed, Harry thought for a bit. "You have your good points, too," he noted. "You’re, um, smart, and great with potions. And you really know how to walk."

"I know how to _walk_? That’s the most pathetic excuse for a compliment I’ve ever heard. My, yes, I know how to get from point A to point B by advancing my feet alternately in bipedal locomotion. In this, no man is my equal."

Despite himself, Harry smiled. "That isn’t what I meant. I meant—you know—you have this really amazing walk. Your robes billow and snap and you take these big, long strides...I dunno. I just always thought it was pretty impressive. You sort of storm."

Snape gave him a wary glance and went back to staring at the fire.

"Come on, Snape. Let’s just go upstairs and have sex. What do you want, a serenade?"

"With your voice? Why don’t you go out and throw boots at the stray cats? I’m sure the effect will be the same."

"Drink really doesn’t mellow you out, does it?"

"I haven’t had enough."

"Then have some more. Maybe if you drink yourself into unconsciousness I can finish up without your participation."

Snape sighed heavily. "I really hate this potion. I hate wanting you even when I don’t want you. I hate being randy as a schoolboy. I hate being backed into a corner."

"You and me both." Harry took a deep breath and ran his hand up Snape’s thigh. "Come on. We can do it in the dark. We won’t even have to see each other."

The man gave Harry a long, silent, contemplative look that made Harry’s stomach clench in an unfamiliar way. "Very well," he finally replied. "Lead on." He stood and swayed a little, and Harry jumped to wrap his arm around Snape’s waist.

"Wow, how many drinks have you had? You don’t sound all that soused."

"I lost count at five, and I am always, _always_ articulate. I just tend to repeat myself or say things that have nothing to do with the subject at hand," Snape explained as Harry steered him to the stairs. "But my words remain well-enunciated and I continue to pronounce them correctly."

"If only there was a competition for that," Harry muttered.

"One fuck, Potter—that’s all the bond requires, and that’s all you’ll be getting from me."

Harry flared up at that. "Like I’m going to _want_ more than that? If I make it through this once I’ll consider myself lucky. You can just hope I don’t get sick right in the middle of everything, having to look at your face."

"We’ll be in the dark," Snape reminded him curtly.

"Right."

They stood outside the bedroom, staring at the small bed before Snape slipped through the doorway, weaving the few short steps to the bed. "Ugh. Potter, you didn’t wet the bed earlier, did you?"

"No, you great git. My wedding dress is—" Harry checked himself, grinding his teeth. "I mean—my _robes_ are still wet."

Shrugging, Snape sat back. "Well?"

Nervously, Harry followed the man, sitting at the very end of the bed. "Guess I should undress, huh?"

"I imagine dispensing of clothing would facilitate things," Snape replied somewhat nervously, undoing his own robes.

Harry watched before slowly reaching up to pluck at his own buttons. Snape’s eyes followed the movement of Harry’s fingers closely. The man seemed to find Harry’s form fascinating, and Harry wished he would look away. He could feel the heat, which had begun to escape his notice, pooling low in his stomach, and the slight dizziness he’d felt earlier returned.

"We—I thought we agreed to make it dark," Harry managed as Snape’s pale body was revealed, the hair below his navel dark and wiry.

"Very well," the man replied, reaching for his wand.

Harry wasn’t certain what spell Snape performed, but the room was plunged into a blackness almost as intimidating as Snape’s naked body. Hunching his shoulders, Harry tried not to hyperventilate. "What happens now?"

He felt Snape’s hand clasp his in the darkness and balked for a moment. "There will be, I fear, some touching necessary," the man informed him.

Harry nodded, then realized Snape couldn’t see him. "Right. Right. So...just lead the way," he muttered.

Snape pulled him down until Harry was flush against the man’s chest. Snape’s body was angular, rather bony, but warm. Harry stayed very, very still, nearly holding his breath as the man’s fingers weaved through his hair. "I should have had the foresight to get _you_ drunk," the man remarked, and Harry had to agree.

Turning on his side, Snape rolled Harry over, and Harry’s hands curled themselves into terrified fists. He couldn’t see Snape at all, couldn’t anticipate what he’d do next. He reached out to feel for the man. "Ow! Potter, that was my _eye._ Will you kindly keep your hands to yourself?"

"I just wanted to know where you were," Harry said.

After a few moments of silence, hot breath grazed his ear, and Harry fought to keep from jerking away. "Stay still and let me do what I will," Snape advised quietly. "Ugh! Hair. I thought I was rather closer to your neck." The man shifted, and then the heat of his tongue—his _tongue—_ slipped over the delicate flesh just under Harry’s jaw line, and Harry let out a soft moan.

"You don’t—have to do that," he protested. "We don’t have to do it that way. We could just—you know—the act—not waste time—beforehand."

But Snape wasn’t listening; Harry could feel the bed shifting as Snape moved, his lips and tongue sliding down Harry’s body. Harry had a bare moment to realize what Snape was about to do before the man had done it—his mouth engulfing Harry’s prick completely, unexpectedly.

Harry cried out, hands hurrying to grasp Snape’s head of their own volition. "Don’t," Harry pleaded.

Snape sucked him, pulling up until just the head of Harry’s cock remained in his mouth, then plunging down again. Harry squirmed, baring his teeth and biting back another plea. Snape wasn’t listening; Snape didn’t care. It went on and on, this wet, breathtaking torture, and Harry didn’t notice the finger at his entrance until Snape had already breached him.

It stung a little, but it was nothing to compare to the heat and suction applied so expertly to his cock, and then another finger joined the first, and another, and they all moved and twisted and crooked _just so_ , and just as Harry was sure he was about to leave his body altogether under the onslaught of such unexpected pleasure, Snape drew off.

He grasped Harry’s hips, and there was a rather dull pain in Harry’s right buttock. "A bit to the left, if you don’t mind," Harry grunted in displeasure. "Ouch! Hey! I meant _my_ left!"

Snape adjusted himself with his hand, which was somewhat unexpected and, Harry felt, if he’d wanted to do this from the beginning, it sort of would have killed the mood. But then the man was sliding deeply into him with one interminably long, smooth motion.

Harry arched a little, and Snape gasped. "Hold on—little longer—don’t fight me—" Snape rasped. His hands searched out Harry’s, pinning him to the bed. "Don’t fight," he repeated. His voice was different—breathless and strained.

Harry didn’t want to fight, but he supposed he could see why Snape might think he did; he couldn’t seem to stay still. His whole body writhed, his hips lifting in time with Snape’s thrusts, his head thrashing against the pillow, and he kept crying out in wordless pleasure.

Snape pounded into him, and Harry couldn’t believe for a moment that the man was merely doing what he must in order for the bond to work. He obviously felt the pleasure and need every bit as much as Harry.

Snape’s hair swung forward, brushing Harry’s face as Snape’s hips pumped. In the darkness, Harry couldn’t see the man at all, though he knew he must be there, face inches from Harry’s own. Harry could feel the tightness of Snape’s grip, his fingers intertwined with Harry’s, could hear the man’s frantic breaths.

Harry trembled, feeling Snape’s hard, throbbing cock deep inside, and he tensed. As Snape thrust once more, Harry braced himself and strained up, bumping noses with Snape, then tilting his head to kiss him fiercely on the mouth.

The man made a small sound of surprise before allowing Harry’s tongue to slip in, flicking against his own. Snape kissed back, just as deep, just as hard, and Harry felt a bone-deep shudder of pleasure as he came. Snape thrust once more, twice, then stilled, still sucking on Harry’s tongue.

Gasping, they broke apart. Snape rested his head on Harry’s shoulder for a moment, still panting with exertion.

"What happens now?" Harry asked in between gulping breaths.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like...do you have an inexplicable desire to make me happy?" he queried tremulously.

"I have a powerful desire to smother you in your sleep, but I doubt that counts as inexplicable," Snape replied tiredly.

"Oh, good."

Snape heaved himself off of Harry’s body, fumbling for his wand to clean them both. "Move over," he commanded.

"Look, the bed just isn’t that big," Harry told him reasonably. He was beginning to get his breath back, and nothing felt any different. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t a little disappointed.

"Fine. But you stay on your side. If I wake up with you trying to _cuddle,_ I’ll hex off whatever bits of you are touching me."

"Jeez. Whatever you say, Attila the Bed Hog. Same goes for you too, you know."

"Fine," Snape grunted. He burrowed into the covers with his back to Harry.

"Fine," Harry snapped in return, then rolled to face away from Snape.

"It...went well, I think," Snape said after a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it did." Harry smiled a little as he shut his eyes.

So far, the bond was a nearly miraculous success.


	2. Part II

Harry ran his finger over the uneven surface. It was rough against his fingertip, but somewhere, somehow, he thought he could feel a deep, rumbling sort of warmth.

“You shouldn’t touch that,” Snape’s voice said from behind him.

“I can’t hurt it, can I?” Harry replied. Snape’s hand darted out and grabbed his, pulling it away from the brick.

“That brick—and the protective spell it holds—keeps us safe. Not from each other, obviously, but so long as it is in Spinners End, the dwelling is protected.”

“Oh. That’s how it works? I hadn’t given it much thought. But that still doesn’t mean I can muck it up, right?”

Snape arched a brow. “Wrong. The brick is just a brick. Just pressed clay infused with an enchantment.”

“Look Snape, even I can’t hurt a rock,” Harry pointed out reasonably. He meant to gesture to the brick, but found Snape was still clasping his hand.

“You could drop it,” Snape replied. “It mightn’t take more than that. And as our magic is linked to the stone, breaking the stone could have nasty repercussions. Think of a broken vessel, its contents spilled and lost,” he added grimly.

Harry was looking down to where their hands were joined, and after a moment, Snape’s eyes followed. There was a silence before they jerked apart.

Snape gave Harry an odd, almost frightened look and withdrew from the room quickly. Harry wondered if he should follow the man. He stared after him, rubbing his hand. He wondered if Snape’s hand was as warm as his was, now. He wondered if Snape had that same strange, wistful feeling.

He looked back at the brick, rough and hard, with magic buried deep inside, more delicate than it looked. Harry shook his head. He wondered if he should say something.

OoOoOoOoO

“That brick...”

“Don’t talk about it,” Snape snapped.

Harry was taken aback. “But I only—”

“Do you want the world to know? It’s a weakness! Do you broadcast your weaknesses for all and sundry to see? Oh, but you do. You always have. You and your anger and your stubbornness and your wholly pathetic emotions.”

Frowning, Harry tried again. “I have every right to—”

“What the devil is all this mess?” Snape demanded, changing the subject and waving a hand at the crates piled around the room.

“My things,” Harry replied. “Since I have to stay here and all.”

“What a lot of bloody chaos,” Snape remarked. “Get it put away.”

Harry shrugged. “All right.” He picked up Hedwig’s cage and made for the stairs.

“Wait just a moment; where do you think you’re going with that?”

“That is my bird. And she’s staying in the bedroom.”

“Oh, no. I did not agree to that. I’m not having some ball of feathers making a racket whenever I try to rest my head.”

“She doesn’t make a racket,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “And there are a lot of things I didn’t agree to about all this, so you can bloody well learn to compromise.”

“The owl stays down here.”

Harry took a few deep breaths before slamming Hedwig’s cage down, causing her to shriek in fury. “I’m not—”

“What the hell are all of these?” Snape interrupted. He picked up a roll of paper and shook it out. Dozens of gaudy Quidditch stars zipped around the picture. “Absolutely not.”

“Listen to me, you obstinate old git, this is my place too now, and I have the right to make it feel more like home.”

“This is my home, and you’re nothing but an unwelcome barbarian invader.”

“Then why don’t I just leave and let you die?” Harry snarled. “The screaming mob can have you. Hell, I’ll hand round the torches and pitchforks myself!”

Snape flung the poster at him and stomped out of the room.

Harry let out a shaky breath and sank into a nearby chair. He looked up at the wall in contemplation. So he was an invader, was he? Well, then, it was time he showed Snape what a real invasion looked like.

OoOoOoOoO

“MY GOD! What have you done to my room?” Snape clutched his chest as though he were about to have a heart attack, and Harry gave him a wary once over. He might have overdone it just a bit...

“It’s my home, too. If I have to live here, I’m going to make it as—as comfortable and homelike as I can,” Harry said stubbornly. He crossed his arms over his chest as Snape’s wild eyes roamed over the red walls, gold bedspread, and Quidditch posters plastered liberally over everything, including the ceiling.

“It looks like an adolescent Gryffindor exploded!”

Harry shuffled his feet. “It’s...it’s bright. Cheery,” he said defensively.

Snape gave him a murderous look, his face a shade of red that bespoke of a middle-aged Slytherin exploding. “You monstrous fiend!” he growled.

“I have my rights,” Harry said through clenched teeth. He held a scroll up between them like a shield. “I read about them. Just because we’re bonded and stuck in your house doesn’t mean you own me. I have certain obligations, and so do you.”

Snape stared at the paper, then flung it aside. “Fine! Equal shares!” He lashed out violently with his wand, and with a ripping sound, half the room reverted to the stodgy, dull place it had been. There was a line straight down the centre of the small bed.

Harry studied it a moment before his brows lowered. “Hey! Your side has the bathroom! That isn’t fair!”

“Use the one in the hall!” Snape thundered. He turned and stormed out of the room.

“I hate you!” Harry screamed after him.

“I hate you, too, you freakish glutton for glitter!” Snape retorted.

OoOoOoOoO

“Hey! Get out! This is my bathroom, git!”

“The entire house is in my name,” Snape replied with a slight sneer. “And only the bedroom need be divided with mathematical precision. Besides, the other toilet is stopped up.”

“That isn’t my problem,” Harry snarled, trying to wrap the shower curtain around himself. “You banned me from that one, so you can jolly well stay out of this one!”

Snape’s lip lifted further as he reached for the handle.

“You wouldn’t...”

“Try me, Potter.” Flush. 

“AUGH! Fucking sadist!” Harry shrieked.

Snape hummed happily as he washed his hands.

OoOoOoOoO

Teeth scraped down the back of Harry’s neck, causing him to shiver. The wards were down, he realized sleepily. “Get away from me,” he rasped. Strong hands grasped his shoulders, pressing him down on the bed. He could feel Snape’s teeth working up and down the nape of his neck, biting almost hard enough to hurt. “I thought we weren’t going to do this again,” Harry noted.

“Shut up,” Snape hissed.

Harry’s hands fisted in the blankets, and he turned his head toward his pillow. He could feel warmth creeping through his veins. Snape’s length was hard; Harry could feel the shape of it against his back through both of their nightshirts. It pressed against him as the man’s hips moved rhythmically. “Stop,” he said, but the word was spoken too softly, too weakly.

Snape didn’t hear, or didn’t care. He rubbed against Harry’s backside, and Harry, despite himself, started to move as well, rutting against the bed.

Harry felt it was the very definition of guilty pleasure; he certainly couldn’t imagine admitting to enjoying this, but there was something deliciously filthy and exciting about Snape’s weight pressing down on him, the man’s baritone grunts and gasps tickling his ear.

Harry shifted, sneaking one hand under his own body, desperately trying to jerk himself off. It didn’t take long.

A short while later, Snape followed, stilling, spilling his seed and making a mess of his nightshirt as well as Harry’s. They collapsed, gasping for several stretched minutes, not looking at one another, before Snape cleaned them both off with a charm, put up the wards again, and returned to his own side of the bed.

Harry rolled onto his side so he wouldn’t accidentally wake up at some point and see Snape. Why was it that they only seemed to want each other when they were furious with one another?

They hadn’t even taken their clothes off. Harry felt oddly cheated.

OoOoOoOoO

“Where is my tin of dried fluxweed, Potter? My storage cabinet is in disarray, and my fluxweed is gone,” Snape said through gritted teeth, looming in the doorway. “I find this very upsetting. I find it so upsetting, in fact, that it’s disrupting my magic. Half of my other potions came out completely bollixed, thanks to you. I repeat; where is my fluxweed?”

Harry sat at the kitchen table, sipping his tea. “I dunno. What’s it look like?”

“It was in a tin,” Snape told him with remarkable patience. “It’s green. It is a member of the mint family.”

“Oh. That. I used it in my tea.”

“You what?”

“Yeah, you had some Early Grey, but it was missing something, you know?”

Snape’s face contorted in rage. “Potter! You imbecile! That was the last of my store of Isanthus brachiatus! It’s an endangered species! It’s SEVENTEEN GALLEONS AN OUNCE!”

He lunged for Harry, who leapt out of range with the instincts of a man who had survived more than one brush with death. “Now, look! You made me spill my tea!”

“I’ll grind your bones and use them in my tea!” Severus roared.

Harry darted around the table and picked up a chair like a lion tamer.

Snape slowly drew his wand.

“If you hex me, you’ll never find the fluxweed,” Harry warned him.

“Too late, you lying thief. You already admitted to using it, remember?”

“I admitted using some of it, but I didn’t use it all.”

Snape lowered his wand. “What did you do with the rest of it?”

Harry smiled cherubically. “Hid it.”

“Little bastard!”

By the time the curse hit the doorframe, Harry was out of the room.

OoOoOoOoO

The rest of the day was spent as an enraged, mutated version of hide-and-seek, with Harry taunting Snape and Apparating to other areas of the house before the man could hex him.

Sundown found them facing off in the bedroom, glaring at one another.

“Give me back my fluxweed, Gryffindor parasite,” Snape demanded.

Harry leaned back against the wall, tossing the tin in the air and catching it. “Come and get it.”

Snape reached out, but flinched when his fingers crossed the magical barrier. “Verminous villain,” he muttered as Harry grinned. “Accio bird!”

Hedwig’s cage slid over to Snape’s side of the room, and Harry straightened, his eyes wide. “You leave her out of this.”

“Give me the fluxweed or the bird dies,” Snape threatened, sticking his wand between the bars of the cage. Hedwig pecked at it irritably as Harry gaped.

After a few seconds, he yelled, “Fine!” He threw the tin as hard as he could, and it hit Severus in the cheek.

Snape pressed his hand to his face, stunned. Then with a wordless snarl, he flung the birdcage at Harry and stomped out of the room, Hedwig’s infuriated screeches following him down the hall.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry was curled in a ball under the covers when Snape finally came to bed. “You’re a liar,” the man said from the doorway. “You’re not just an ordinary liar; you dare to construct lies of outrageous proportions.” He sounded off-balance and perhaps a little drunk.

Harry didn’t answer. He just hunched his shoulders a bit, letting his stony silence speak for him.

“There wasn’t any fluxweed missing. Why would you lie about something like that? Why would you make me spend the whole day chasing after you?”

“You were mean to me first,” Harry pointed out, his voice tight with anger.

“Are you really that phenomenally childish?” Snape asked.

“Must be, or I wouldn’t have done it.”

Heaving a great sigh, Severus sank down on the bed. “I don’t know whether to throttle you for driving me batty or thank you for not wasting my potions ingredients,” he said, his voice tired.

Harry shrugged.

Snape hesitantly reached out, but the magical barrier shocked him again, and he withdrew his hand. After a while, he took off his shoes and got into bed, careful to stay on his own side.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry carefully constructed a wall of silence between them over the next few days. At dinner, if Snape asked Harry to pass something, Harry floated it over wordlessly, not using his hands in case they brushed Snape’s. He started looking for a job Monday and found one almost immediately, helping to stock books at Flourish and Blotts. It was a piddling sort of career for a former hero, but the owner liked the attention Harry brought the place, and at least it got him out of the house during the day.

When Snape asked him where he’d been, Harry didn’t answer. Snape stopped asking questions.

Snape spent most of his time in the cellar brewing potions to sell. Most of them made the house smell foul, and Harry considered a bitter complaint or two, but tried to tell himself it wouldn’t be worth breaking his silence.

Harry was proud of himself for not yielding, until he came home Wednesday afternoon and found Snape mixing something nasty and putrid on the kitchen stove.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “That’s where we cook supper, and it reeks!”

Snape turned with a grim smile. “It’s a brew of my own invention. I call it a Compelled Conversation Concoction. It’s so powerful it doesn’t even need to be ingested before it begins working.”

Harry blinked. “You mean...you just did that so I would talk? What the fuck is your problem?”

“Passive-aggressive Potter apparently hasn’t learned to deal with his problems in an adult manner.”

“And this is so mature?”

Snape scowled. “It’s effective, in any case.”

Harry stamped over to the stove, grabbed the cauldron and upended it, spilling its fetid contents over the counters and floor. “Is that passive-aggressive?” he challenged.

Snape’s face turned very red. “Clean that up!”

“Make me!” Harry shouted, hands balled into fists.

The man grabbed him by the back of the neck and wrestled him to his knees, trying to force his face down into the puddle. Harry fought back, clutching Snape’s waist and struggling. The floor was slick from the slime, and they both ended up slipping and falling to the floor.

“You’re a beast,” Snape snarled. “A mentally disturbed beast.”

Harry shoved at him. “You’re the one who invented this garbage!” He scooped a handful of it from the floor and flung it at the man.

Snape jerked back with an outraged gasp as it splattered. Green slime oozed from his hair and dripped down the side of his face. He seized Harry’s shoulders and gave the boy a rough shake. “Will you grow up?”

Harry reflected later that kissing while sprawled in an inch of putrescence was even less romantic than their first time, and he didn’t know quite how it happened. He certainly didn’t want to kiss Snape—all dishevelled and dripping goo. But once he started, he just couldn’t seem to stop. Even the smell didn’t deter him, and if Snape’s looks, a puddle of slime and the malodorous stench didn’t quell his libido, Harry supposed nothing would.

Perhaps it was the bond.

“Upstairs,” Snape croaked when they pulled apart a moment. He tensed, and then looked confused a moment. “Damn you. I can’t think straight. I can’t concentrate. I can’t even Apparate!” he whirled and strode out of the room, heading for the stairs, and Harry hesitated only a second before following. He was afraid he’d change his mind, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to change his mind, even though he knew he should.

Up in the bedroom, they encountered difficulties. For one thing, Hedwig watched them paw at each other for a few moments before clicking her beak in disapproval and turning her back on them.

“No one asked for your opinion,” Snape told her peevishly. She didn’t deign to answer, all puffed up, feathers standing on end in disgust.

Snape slammed Harry backward onto the bed, the bedsprings recoiling in protest. They nearly knocked heads, as Snape’s usually-level mattress gave an impressive display of its elasticity. They waited for the bouncing to stop before kissing again, and again.

“The wards,” Harry gasped.

Snape paused. “They already seem to be down. Who put them up last time?”

Giving it a moment’s thought, Harry answered slowly. “I think I did...”

“You didn’t do a very good job, did you?” Snape growled in his ear.

Harry wriggled out of his robes, Snape helping by yanking them over his head and knocking his glasses off, then wadding the cloth up and throwing it aside.

He looked so intent, so serious as he leaned forward that Harry’s breath caught. The man wasn’t attractive in any traditional sense, or any non-traditional sense, for that matter, but his expression of raw need brought Harry’s cock straight to attention in a way no pretty girl ever had.

Harry let himself fall back, legs splayed, and allowed Snape to kiss him, to touch him, working his smalls down his hips. A warm hand with long fingers wrapped around his cock, pumping it none too gently, and Harry cried out.

It was happening too fast—would end too quickly. Harry batted the man’s hand away and sat up, kissing him, pushing him and urging him down. Snape didn’t seem to want to go—he was the most domineering man Harry’d ever met, but reluctantly lay back when Harry clambered up to straddle his hips.

This time the room wasn’t dark, and as terrifying as that was, Harry needed the light to line things up. There seemed to be a lot of resistance, and he wasn’t sure what was wrong until Snape’s hands squeezed his hips, halting his movement.

“We need lubricant,” the man asserted.

Harry looked up uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“We didn’t use any last time,” Harry objected as Snape reached into the nightstand and pulled out a vial.

“What are you on about? Of course we did.”

“I didn’t see any.”

“You insisted on utter darkness. There were a lot of things you didn’t see.” Snape pushed Harry back and spent a moment slicking up his own cock while Harry looked on, fascinated. “Coat your entrance, as well,” the man advised.

Harry flamed in embarrassment. Why hadn’t he insisted on dousing the lights again? On the other hand, there was something wonderfully mesmerising about Snape’s cock, long and plump and twitching with eagerness as Harry stared at it. “’S beautiful,” he mumbled without thinking. Reddening even further, he glanced up to gauge Snape’s expression, but it was carefully blank.

“Potter. Your entrance.”

“That’s a prissy way of wording it,” Harry grumbled.

“Fine. Lube your fingers up and stick them up your arse,” Snape growled.

Harry’s eyes half-shut at this, revelling in the dulcet tone of Snape’s rich voice saying dirty things. He reached down, hesitating long enough to meet Snape’s gaze. “Er, could you keep talking, please?”

“Oh, very well,” the man capitulated with a sigh. “Hurry and prepare that tight arse of yours, because I’m very randy, and I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you.”

Harry felt gooseflesh crawling all over, and did his best to stretch himself under Snape’s hungry eye, which was somehow rather a turn on. The man licked his lips a little, muttering dirty, encouraging sorts of things at Harry until Harry was half-mad with want.

“C—can I?”

“Yes, I think that’s enough,” Snape said, and Harry lowered himself on the man’s prick. It took several tries, because things didn’t seem to line up just right, and Snape’s cock was slippery with oil. There was some tightness and discomfort when Harry finally got it all in, but the man didn’t hurry him, and Harry stayed motionless for a long moment, his head thrown back, letting his body adjust.

And then he moved.

The angle was weird and his feet were falling asleep and one leg kept cramping, but it was still fantastic. Every time he sank down, Snape would hiss or groan his name. Eventually the man reached out and grasped Harry’s cock, pumping it in time with Harry’s movements.

Harry had never felt such control. Not over Snape—not over the situation—not over his life. It was heady and arousing. He could feel lust and adrenaline surging through him, and he plunged himself down harder and harder, while Snape’s dark eyes drank him in.

And suddenly, all control slipped from Harry’s grasp as he rode the man harder, body straining, muscles aching, drops of sweat tickling their way down his spine. Snape shouted something unintelligible, hips lifting, rocking Harry. He grimaced, and Harry thought there was something especially fascinating about his expression as he climaxed—it was so self-absorbed, yet strangely vulnerable. Harry felt himself come, a great rush flooding through his body.

He looked down at Snape, his hair clinging damply to his face. He pushed it away with the back of his hand. “Well...” he managed. His voice sounded thready and thin—almost as tired as he felt. “That was something.”

“Get off of me, Potter,” Snape replied.

Harry did so; one leg had almost gone dead. Snape wasn’t looking at him. Harry had the uncomfortable sensation that someone had pushed the reset button, sending them right back to the beginning again. The angry tension was already starting to seep back, along with loathing and distrust. “It’d be nice if we could spend five minutes together where we weren’t fighting or fucking,” he observed.

“If you could be quiet for five minutes, I suppose it might be possible,” Snape responded. “Unhappily, the only way I know to shut you up is to fuck you, so it’s a vicious cycle.”

Harry’s breaths began to slow. “I can be quiet for five minutes,” he replied. Let Snape see how nice and amiable the silence was. He hadn’t liked it so much earlier. Harry would show him. He rolled over to face the wall and began counting. He was asleep before he’d got as far as twenty.


	3. Chapter 3

“All right! I’m _coming_ already!” Harry hollered, taking the stairs two at a time. Why the hell couldn’t Snape be buggered to come out of his lab long enough to answer the door? It was always for him, anyway—potions ingredients and magazine subscriptions mostly. Harry knew he’d probably get more mail if he let people know where he was living, but—

 

“Hello, Scar-head.”

 

Harry balked. “Malfoy?” he said with great distaste. “What are you doing here? No—never mind. Just go away before some of your foulness rubs off on me.”

 

Draco squeezed around Harry, his smile never slipping. “Don’t worry; no one wants to touch you, let alone anything else that might result in the transfer of germs or bodily fluids. I’m just here to visit with my favourite ex-Potions Master.”

 

“Why?” Harry asked suspiciously.

 

“Good gracious, can’t the man have visitors? Oh, I suppose you’re unfamiliar with the concept of people enjoying speaking with you. You generally have to resort to heroism in order to get any attention, as I recall. You see, some people like Snape’s company and banter. It’s called friendship and getting a little on the side.”

 

“It’s—wait—what?”

 

“Oh, did I say that last part out loud? I meant _congratulations,_ Potter. I read in the _Prophet_ that you managed to bag the man. How very impressive. Still, I suppose the man who killed You-Know-Who wouldn’t have any problems coercing even the most reluctant martyr into matrimony. Was it blackmail?”

 

“You rotten—”

 

“Is he in his lab? He spent an inordinate amount of time there when I lived with him. I’ll just pop down and say hello.”

 

“What do you mean, lived with him?”

 

“Well, you know _we_ were bonded too, after a fashion. He selflessly made an Unbreakable Vow to take care of me. Wasn’t that sweet? We stayed here, of course. He used to make the most _wonderful_ Spanish omelettes Sunday mornings.”

 

“He made you omelettes?” Harry repeated blankly. This was a chapter of Snape’s history which had hitherto been entirely unmentioned.

 

“Yes. He’s a wonderful cook, isn’t he?”

 

“Er,” Harry hedged. They’d eaten together, but Harry had _always_ been the one to cook. Why had the man made Draco omelettes?

 

“At any rate, I won’t be a moment.” Draco headed downstairs, and Harry reached out to stop him before thinking better of it. Snape _hated_ to be disturbed when he was brewing potions. If Draco wanted his head ripped off, let him be an idiot. Surely if he’d lived with Snape, he should know _that_ much.

 

And Harry would only take the most incidental pleasure from the experience, really. He cringed just a little, awaiting the man’s scream of rage.

 

Which didn’t come.

 

At length, he crept to the door of the cellar and pressed his ear against the wood. There were the faint sounds of laughter. For some reason, that _really_ made Harry cringe. Were they talking about him? He supposed they must be, then cursed himself for an arrogant fool. The conversation didn’t necessarily have to be about him. They’d lived together and dined together, after all. They were both Slytherins and sadists. They probably had a lot in common, and had always got on like a house on fire.

 

Somehow that line of thought was even more upsetting than the idea of being laughed at.

 

Well, Harry could hardly help the conversation, and knew better than to invade Snape’s lab. He went and got a book on Quidditch, and plopped himself down where he could see the door to the cellar. And then he read the same page over and over again.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

There were cold feet brushing the back of Snape’s legs, then a warm breath on the back of his neck. “Take the spell off,” Potter urged, his voice slurred by drink. Sparks danced on his fingertips when he tried to reach over to Snape.

 

Snape rolled over and gave the brat a hard look. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do this again.”

 

“I hate Draco. _Hate_ him. He’s such a conceited, spoiled, condescending berk! D’you know he made kissy noises at me and called me ‘suckling’ as he was leaving? I tried to curse him, but he must have had a shielding spell up or something, because I didn’t even get close.”

 

Snape smiled. “That sounds like him.” Grudgingly, he let down the wards that kept them each on their own side of the bed.

 

“Did you and Draco ever—here?” Harry demanded.

 

Severus leaned over, sliding his hands up under Potter’s nightshirt. His stomach was warm, and he let out an odd little breath as Snape’s hands explored him. “What did you drink, and exactly how much have you had?”

 

Harry smirked. “Brandy older than I am. I tried to drink my own weight, since that would be anel—an—elg—an elegant...irony or something...but I ran out.”

 

“You _ran out?_ Of my _thirty-year-old—_ Potter, I’m going to kill you!”

 

Laughing harshly, Harry blocked the hands that went for his neck. “Fuck you, Snape.”

 

Roughly, Snape rolled him over.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Taking sixty-five Sickles worth of brandy out of your arse,” Snape replied tersely.

 

Harry smiled lazily over his shoulder. “That’s all right, then.”

 

It wasn’t tender. Harry obviously didn’t want tender; he wanted fierce and angry and—and— _intense,_ one would suppose _._ For every thrust Snape made, the boy bucked back, impaling himself. Every groan that escaped Snape’s lips was echoed by Harry, every slick, desperate movement a competition between two participants—and one memory.

 

When at last it was over and they were tucked under the damp covers, Snape drowsed while Harry stared at the ceiling.

 

It wasn’t until after midnight, when Harry got up to get a drink of water, that Snape yawned and blinked blearily at him, and noticed that the youth hadn’t slept. Post-coital contentment impelled him to say, “Of course not,” in a tired voice. His head lolled as began to drift off again. “Lucius would have killed me,” he added sleepily.

 

His eyes were closed, so he didn’t see Potter’s expression, but it seemed to him that Potter stood there beside the bed for an awfully long time, unmoving, before leaving to get his glass of water.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“...no, because now it’s in _all_ the bricks,” an annoying, know-it-all voice said shrilly, and Snape paused at the top of the stairs to shudder.

 

“Sounds like thaumites,” another helpful voice put in. “We had those in the Burrow, once; Charlie brought home a couple for a Care of Magical Creatures project and they infested _everything._ They can go right through brick, too.”

 

“This isn’t the same thing—”

 

“They can?” Potter’s horrified voice interrupted. “How do you keep them out?”

 

“Don’t invite Charlie to visit,” was the reply.

 

Snape swung the cellar door back with a bang. He felt a certain amount of satisfaction when everyone jumped and Weasley upended his tea in his lap. “I had no idea we had visitors,” he said in a cool tone.

 

Potter swallowed. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were expecting Draco,” he pointed out reasonably.

 

“You never expect Draco. He’s like the Spanish Inquisition. He just turns up when you least want him,” Snape replied.

 

Potter smiled. It was rather unnerving. “I bought some eggs,” he said.

 

Snape wondered what controlled the boy’s train of thought; like Albus, it was probably either something seriously occult or something seriously batty. “Eggs?” he repeated.

 

“You could make omelettes, sometime,” Harry offered.

 

“I...see...Granger, don’t touch that!”

 

“I really wouldn’t,” Harry advised. “He’s awfully jumpy about it, for some reason.”

 

“The point of the spell in that brick—the point of this house—no, the point of the misery of being bonded to you is that Spinners End is safe and was, up until quite recently when it was revealed without my approval, secret. No one was supposed to be able to find us here. Especially not mobs.”

 

Glancing at his friends, Potter sighed. “Ron and Hermione hardly constitute a _mob_ ,” he said. “And we _are_ safe. They won’t tell anyone.”

 

Granger looked back at Snape with an air of someone doing complicated arithmetic in her head.

 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Snape announced, escaping the room. Potter said something about getting some biscuits and followed. “I don’t appreciate having your little chums inflicted on me,” Snape told him when they’d reached the kitchen. “I didn’t inflict Draco on _you._ ”

 

Harry grimaced. “No, you went into the cellar and closed the door for a good two hours, which was _much_ better. I could take Ron and Hermione upstairs and do the same, but I doubt it’d have the same impression.”

 

Snape was surprised. “What are you implying?”

 

“I’m not implying anything! Just because ferret-face came to have a visit with his _favourite_ teacher who was so _sweet_ as to look out for him and used to make him _omelettes_ on Sundays,” Harry grumbled.

 

Snape turned away quickly. “I see. You’re jealous.”

 

“I’m not!” Harry protested. “And why is it you never cook for me?”

 

“Draco is used to being waited on hand and foot,” Snape said, pouring himself a cup of tea. “And anyway, I’m fairly certain he didn’t come here because of me. He spent as much time tormenting and teasing you before and after he’d spoken with me as he did in conversation _with_ me.”

 

“You mean he enjoys annoying me as much as he enjoys your company?”

 

“I meant that I think he enjoys annoying you as much as he enjoys _your_ company,” Snape replied, blowing on his tea.

 

Harry froze. “Oh.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Don’t say ‘indeed’ at me. I hate it when you say ‘indeed’ at me. It sounds all pretentious and it doesn’t actually mean anything.”

 

“You’re in a good mood today.”

 

“Well, what do you expect from me? You tell me that Draco’s in love with me when I thought he was in love with you and you expect me to be calm?”

 

“I shouldn’t use the word love. He likes exasperating you. Mind you, I’ve never been able to tell the difference between exasperation and love, but I’m fairly certain he’d consider it an insult.”

 

“He’s daft, if he thinks insults are the same thing as flirting.”

 

“He certainly isn’t daft. He’s just a bit maladjusted. Emotionally stunted, perhaps.”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘boys will be boys’ crap; he does it with malice, not childish impishness. He’s not a child. No Slytherins are _ever_ children; not really. Not the ones I went to school with.”

 

“What nonsense. All Slytherins are children at heart. And if you ever really knew anything about children, you’d know exactly the kind of selfish, greedy, backstabbing behaviour I mean.”

 

Harry sighed. “I should get back to my guests.”

 

“Yes, do.” Snape followed the boy back to the living room and gave Potter’s friends a slightly sarcastic bow. “I have to get back to my poisons before they boil over and the fumes come up through the vents again,” he said. “So good to see you both again.”

 

Harry turned, his expression softened with sentimentality. “Thanks for not being too completely horrible,” he murmured.

 

Snape mustered the sweetest smile he could. “I’m sure you’ll reward me richly tonight, won’t you?”

 

Granger turned red and Weasley spluttered. Snape bowed again and escaped to his dungeons. Really, it wasn’t so terrible that Potter invited his cronies around. There was always something cheering about having someone new to torment.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“Are you coming to bed?” Harry called. He patted his hair, hoping it was more or less laying flat. It had the worst tendency to go mad whenever he was trying his hardest to look nice.

 

“In a minute,” Snape replied. “If you’re in such a hurry to go to sleep, you can turn out the lights, if you like.”

 

“Er, no. It’s fine,” Harry said, smoothing the covers down. He found a loose thread on the bedspread and picked at it nervously.

 

Finally, Snape came out of the bathroom, and Harry gave him an unpractised smile. “Hey.” The man’s expression was already beginning to harden into its usual suspicious scowl.

 

“What are you up to now?”

 

Harry tried to laugh. “Nothing. Um. I just thought...ah, maybe we could...you know, like you said earlier.”

 

Snape looked blank. “What did I say earlier?”

 

“Not exactly _say,_ per se...er, more what you implied,” Harry said. “And don’t say ‘one hundred and twelve,’ because I _know_ how many times I’ve blushed in the past few weeks, and it makes me nervous when you keep count.”

 

“Actually, I lost count a week ago Wednesday,” Snape replied, giving Harry a shrewd look. “I don’t recall implying anything...unless you mean...when your little playmates were over?”

 

Harry decided to ignore the ‘little playmates’ remark and nodded. “Yeah. Um. You said I should, ah, ‘reward you,’ so I thought maybe I could. If you wanted to,” he offered.

 

“You want to have sex?”

 

“Yes, sir—er, Sna—um...Severus?”

 

Snape looked vaguely taken aback. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

 

Harry’s smile came out a bit crooked. “I do feel a little hot, now that you mention it,” he said wryly.

 

“Was that sarcasm? Did you just attempt sarcasm?”

 

“I’m sure I’ll get better at it,” Harry laughed. “I’m living with the master, after all.” Swallowing hard, he pushed back the covers. “Getting in? The floor’s icy cold, I know.”

 

Snape hesitated. “Just to be clear, you want to have sex. With me. After consideration and forethought. Where we both anticipate it beforehand and approach the thing with level heads and consideration for one another.”

 

Harry tilted his head to the side. “Well, I didn’t really deliberate about it or anything. I just thought I’d ask you if you’d like to fuck—you know, when neither of us is drunk or angry. I kind of thought it might be a nice change, that’s all.”

 

“Ah. I see. Well...I suppose...what’s the worst that could happen?” Snape said with a shrug. He slipped between the cool sheets, pulling them up over his legs.

 

“Lubricant’s on the night stand,” Harry said helpfully. “You know; responsibility and maturity are my watchwords.”

 

“I have a difficult time believing you could spell them, let alone live by them,” Snape replied. He sighed. “I suppose I ought to refrain from raining abuse down upon your tender ears.”

 

“Can’t be _that_ tender, after having been with you for more than a month,” Harry said. “Um. Should we...?”

 

Snape shifted, and they looked at one another uncomfortably. “I confess I’m not entirely sure where to start,” Snape said. “I’m so used to pinning you to the bed and having my way with you.”

 

“That’s nice, too,” Harry told him. “But it’d be really great if I didn’t end up with bruises all up and down my arms from being manhandled, just once.”

 

“All right, then,” Severus sighed. “I can refrain for one evening. Ah...what exactly would you like me to do?”

 

“Er...I reckon we could start with a kiss,” Harry suggested. Snape nodded, leaning forward. It wasn’t the hot, passionate, angry sort of kissing they were used to. Snape was oddly subdued, one arm tentatively wrapping round Harry and holding him loosely.

 

“That was...anticlimactic,” Snape said as they paused.

 

Harry laughed. “Well, it was just the beginning. I’m sure we’ll get better as we go on.” He lay back, reaching up to pull the man down. “Let’s try it again.”

 

Snape bent, his long hair falling forward and tickling Harry’s ear. He kissed Harry softly, and Harry’s hands fisted in his hair.

 

Snape made a pained noise. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pull it out by the roots.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, relaxing his grip. He stroked the man’s hair more carefully, and Snape kissed him again. They began touching, reaching for each other, cautiously navigating one another’s bodies.

 

As Severus trailed a hand down to Harry’s pyjama bottoms, he looked up, questioning, and Harry blushed and nodded. “This is unforgivably awkward,” the man complained. “Next time I’m getting pissed beforehand. It saves time and aggravation all around.”

 

“Except when you can’t get it in the first time, which I find kind of aggravating, not to mention awkward.”

 

“No one asked you.”

Harry smiled indulgentlyas Severus shucked his pyjama bottoms and began sucking his hip bone. Since when had he started thinking of the man as ‘Severus’ anyway? “You think it’ll get less awkward as we get used to it?” he wondered aloud.

 

Severus left a trail of nips all down Harry’s thigh. “We can but hope.”

 

Smiling, Harry pushed the man’s hair back so he could gaze on that sharp profile. “You’re a pretentious git,” he said fondly.

 

“I’m afraid I’ve nothing so nice to say of you,” the man replied. His tongue danced a wet caress down Harry’s stomach, and Harry’s prick twitched. The man continued to offer barbed insults, but Harry’s ears were filled with white noise—anticipation and his own heart beat swam together and drowned out even Snape’s deep voice.

 

Then the man’s mouth opened, slipped fluidly, wetly, _wonderfully_ over the head of his prick and took him in, inch by inch. Harry groaned, and Snape joined him in chorus. As something like music swallowed the white noise, Harry was swallowed as well, and gave himself over to the rhythm of his throbbing heart.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“I’ll be back this evening.”

 

“What time?” Harry tried to look indifferent as he flipped the page of his magazine.

 

“I don’t know. What on earth does it matter?”

 

“Well, should I fix dinner, or won’t you be back in time?” Harry replied reasonably.

 

“I shouldn’t think so. Draco said something about drinks afterward.”

 

“Oh. Drinks,” Harry said flatly.

 

“Is something wrong?” Snape asked too-innocently.

 

“No. No, drinks are fine. I’ll just reheat some pot roast. Good. Fine.”

 

“You know how these conferences are; I’ll need a stiff one afterwards.”

 

Harry glared at his magazine. “You could come _home_ for _that_ ,” he said under his breath. Louder he added, “I really wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a potions conference, let alone spoken at one.”

 

“It’s dreadfully dull,” Snape assured him.

 

“Bet Draco will liven it up,” Harry remarked sullenly.

 

“Certainly. He invited _me_. That’s a treat for everyone.”

 

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t be too late, would you? Hermione’s coming over, and I can only take an hour or so of her going on about what new books she’s read and what new research she’s done before feeling like a mentally impaired slug.”

 

“Whose fault is that?” Snape asked, giving Harry a brief kiss on the forehead. “It’s just a few of Draco’s friends—potions enthusiasts all, god help us. I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be able to extricate myself.”

 

Harry frowned a little. “It’s not at Malfoy Manor, is it?”

 

Severus smiled faintly. “Apullius Abacuk’s, actually. An apothecary in Knockturn Alley. It’s a bit run down, but one can usually find those _hard to obtain_ ingredients there, and it offers a certain amount of privacy for a couple of former Death Eaters.”

 

Harry got a sudden chill. He’d been so worried about Snape going off with Draco that he’d forgot all about the threat to Snape’s life. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked anxiously as Severus pulled his gloves on.

 

“Don’t fret,” the man said. “It’s very secret; no one who wishes me harm has been invited, I promise. We _are_ former Death Eaters, you know. Nothing will happen to me.”

 

“I suppose not,” Harry said reluctantly. “But do be careful.”

 

Snape gave him a half smile. “Careful yourself, Potter,” he advised. “You’re beginning to sound rather fond of me.” Harry flushed, and Snape leaned down, his lips close to Harry’s ear. “Vermilion,” he whispered.

 

“The shade of red just under my jaw line,” Harry murmured.

 

“Just so,” Snape said with a nod, and, after a couple of tries, Apparated. Harry felt better when he couldn’t seem to leave immediately. Maybe the man didn’t really want to leave, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

"Really, Harry, it’s fascinating."

Harry forced a smile. "It’s really nothing very exciting. I can’t tell where he is or what he’s doing, and we can go out whenever we want to. It’s like what Dumbledore did when he placed me with the Dursleys. Spinners End is protected, that’s all. It doesn’t give us a special empathy for each other or anything."

Hermione frowned. "But according to what I’ve read, it’s not nearly as strong as what Dumbledore did. Your bond took less time and effort, but isn’t as effective even though your magic and Snape’s is tied to the stone. I wonder why Scrimgeour chose a less powerful spell?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably because we were busy trying to bite each other’s heads off, and he wanted to be rid of us as quickly as possible," he surmised.

"I don’t know," Hermione replied reluctantly, her forehead wrinkled in worry. "Why did he insist on the bond in the first place?"

"He said it would promote healing in the community or something."

"Really? That...doesn’t sound right."

Harry shifted on the sofa uncomfortably. "Well, what other reason would he have to do it? I mean, I guess I kind of got the feeling that he felt Snape and I would keep each other busy and out of his hair, but..."

"That’s...more likely, but still somehow off," Hermione said. "I mean, I understand why he would want you both out of the way; you’re a hero, and a famous one at that, and with the revelation of Snape’s true loyalties and all he did for the wizarding world, it makes sense that Scrimgeour would be nervous. Either one of you could be a potentially powerful political adversary," she suggested.

Harry laughed. "Maybe he’s hoping we’ll kill each other." A shiver ran through him. They sat in silence for several contemplative moments. "Wait a moment; you said the spell wasn’t very powerful?"

"It’s odd, but the way the magic and the magical protection has sort of leaked into the bricks, both seem weakened," Hermione answered, sounding puzzled. "I just can’t see why anyone would purposely do that, unless...Harry, you don’t think—"

Staring at his feet, Harry thought furiously. _Unless they wanted the protection to weaken,_ he thought. _Unless they meant to come back later and attack the very place that was supposed to be safe..._ He swallowed hard. He’d even invited his friends round! If something happened to Hermione, he’d never forgive himself. Harry leapt to his feet, grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the chair. "Come on; get outside right now. You go home and wait with Ron, and I’ll contact you later."

"But Harry, what are you going to do? We don’t know anything for certain! We don’t have a shred of proof! You’re not going to confront Scrimgeour, are you?"

"No, I won’t approach Scrimgeour," he assured her as they hurried into the cold night, yanking their cloaks on. "Not alone, anyway." After they crossed the street, Harry turned. He stared at Spinners End, a decrepit building which now seemed to lurk menacingly in the darkness—a building that had started to feel like home. Even now the lights glowed invitingly, and Harry felt a moment of wrenching regret. Would he ever be safe _anywhere?_

Hermione silently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I’m glad Snape isn’t home," he muttered. "At least he’s safe."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry...you each put your magic into the bond. It doesn’t matter where he is; if something happens to Spinners End, you’ll both be Muggles."

Harry looked at her, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Oh, my god. I have to find him."

OoOoOoOoO

 

"Therefore if you want to make a Concoction of Coveting, only a _pinch_ of _Levisticum officinale_ is...recommended..." Snape trailed off as Harry hurtled into the room. His eyes were as big as dinner plates, and he had that stunned codfish look he got whenever something had particularly traumatized him. Inwardly, Severus groaned. What had the brat managed to get into now? "That’s all for this evening, gentlemen," he concluded hastily. "And if any of you care to attempt any of the elixirs outlined in tonight’s speech, I’m sure that Mr. Abacuk would be happy to supply you with the ingredients. Excuse me," he added softly, pressing through the crowd and making his way to Potter.

Harry was nearly hopping from one foot to the other, obviously anxious.

"Wonderful speech," Draco smarmed, neatly injecting himself between them. "Thank you _so_ much for agreeing to help me out. I can’t tell you what it means to me."

Snape eyed Harry apprehensively over Draco’s head; the boy looked ready to explode with agitation. Well, he’d have to learn patience _sometime._ "Thank you for inviting me," Snape replied. "It made a nice change to have an audience that actually paid attention while I dispensed instruction. Mind you, they’ll blow themselves up if they attempt half of what I told them, I’ve no doubt."

"Snape—"

"Good riddance," Draco said loudly, speaking over Harry. "Now that they’ve given me their money, I have no further use for them. You promised to let me buy you a drink?"

Harry scowled for a moment, then shoved Draco out of the way. Then, to Snape’s astonishment, Potter swooned, pressing the back of one hand to his forehead dramatically. "What the devil?" Snape exclaimed, just barely managing to catch the brat.

"I feel sick," Harry moaned softly. "I think you’d better take me home...I have to have you with me...the bond...having strange...empathic pangs," he murmured.

Snape dragged him outside by the scruff of his neck. "What are you on about, you histrionic thespian?" he hissed. "I don’t believe for one second you’re suffering from ‘empathic pangs.’ I certainly wasn’t enduring any ‘empathic pangs’ over _your_ absence!"

Harry straightened up, affronted. "You wouldn’t recognize an empathic pang if it bit you in the arse! Look, Snape, this is important! Do you know why Scrimgeour bonded us?"

Snape hesitated, glancing around the empty alley. "I...assumed he wanted someone to keep an eye on me. Who better than that indefatigable do-gooder, Harry Potter?"

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "What if it was more than that? What if he saw us as a threat?"

"I’m no threat to him," Snape protested feebly. "He could have me killed, if he wanted."

"That would bring unwanted attention from the press, I think," Harry said, pacing. "I don’t believe he was worried about your safety at all. Or mine. I think he was lying through his teeth, right from the beginning. Hermione said we’d be...potentially powerful political adversaries," he repeated. "And we would. _Think_ about it! We would! What if this whole bonding thing was just to get us out of the way?"

Snape frowned. "You may be right," he said with reluctance. "He gave me no time to consider. Take the deal or hang, so I took the deal. That brick and its implications have given me sleepless nights ever since. We took too much at face value. We should have asked questions. _I_ should have asked questions; no one would expect _you_ to think of...well, to think. But I should have known better. That double dealing bastard!"

"I can’t believe a politician lied to us," Harry quipped feebly. "Hermione says the protection is _weakened_ by the fact that it’s spreading into all the bricks."

"It’s—what?"

"I thought you knew. I thought it was supposed to do that—to protect the whole house. It isn’t?"

Snape felt like he might be sick. " _No_ , I didn’t know it was doing that, and _no_ it isn’t supposed to," he barked. "Why the hell didn’t Granger mention this to _me,_ and earlier?"

Harry shrugged, bewildered. "Maybe because you bite her head off whenever she looks at you?"

"Damn and blast! He didn’t seal it off. He just left it that way; left it to drain. No protection, no magic. We never should have trusted him. And I thought it was your fault—distracting me."

"My magic hasn’t been working right, either," Harry noted in quiet dread. "That’s why the wards weren’t up in the bedroom—I _did_ remember to put them up, but they weakened. And that’s why I couldn’t seem to curse Draco. But there _have_ been times, haven’t there, when our magic seemed just fine?"

"Yes," Snape replied darkly. "When we were about to have sex or a flaming row. When we were really simmering with power. Not in the everyday things."

"We should tell someone," Harry opined.

"Oh, really? Who, pray tell? In the first place, we don’t have any proof. I highly doubt anyone would believe us—especially as it’s our word against the Minister’s. Who would be brave enough to stand up to the Minister of Magic, anyway?"

"What should we do?"

After a few moments of reflection, Snape gave a grim smile. "We’ll go and get the brick and take it to Grimmauld Place. Scrimgeour was never privy to that little secret, was he? It ought to be safe, there. And then we’ll have to have it sealed off so the magic stops seeping out."

Harry nodded, evidently relieved. "Yes; that sounds good," he said. "I can’t say I’d be happy to live there for any length of time, but it beats being dead, I guess. Should we Apparate straight into the study?"

"We shouldn’t—"

"But it’s the fastest way," Harry argued. "It’ll take us right inside, and all we’d have to do is reach up and snatch the thing off the mantle. We can’t risk someone else getting there first," he pointed out.

"Yes, we can," Snape replied evenly. "I shouldn’t like to spend the rest of my life as a Muggle, but as you said, it beats being dead. We should approach the house cautiously."

Harry nodded. "And you know, you’re wrong about one thing. I can think of at least one person who would—who would probably believe _me,_ at least. And he’s highly placed, so he might be able to do something if we’re right."

"Who?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’s head of the Auror division now."

Snape hesitated. "I’ll borrow an owl from the proprietor and ask him to meet us at the house."

OoOoOoOoO

 

The building was dark and still when they arrived back. The weak flicker of an erratic streetlamp bathed their path in a sickly yellow glow. Harry fought off the shiver that tried to inch up his spine, but didn’t let go of Severus’ arm. "Everything looks all right," he said, and realized that he was whispering.

"Mm-hmm," Snape agreed quietly. They stayed motionless for several moments, Harry straining for any sound other than his own heartbeat. "Wait here," Snape ordered. "I’ll retrieve the brick. It’s important that we have it sealed off before more damage is done, and if anything should happen to it..."

He stepped forward, but Harry clung stubbornly to his arm, digging his heels in. "No! Let me go in!"

Snape whirled, jerking his arm away and glaring at Harry. "You _will_ wait here, and you _will_ bloody behave, for once in your obstinate life!" he snapped.

Harry opened his mouth, but he’d seen Snape in moods like this often enough to know not to push his luck, so instead he nodded, swallowing hard.

Returning his nod curtly, Snape turned and marched toward the house. Harry watched him go, crossing his fingers and clutching his wand. Everything would be all right. It would have to be all right. The house was fine. It was still standing, dim and silent, and perfectly safe.

_Dim and silent._

A sledgehammer seemed to hit Harry in the chest; he hadn’t left Spinners End dark and silent. When he and Hermione left, the lights were all blazing. He opened his mouth to call out a warning, and ran after Snape.

Harry saw the man turn again, his face puzzled and annoyed, before a sudden backlight made the man a mere slim silhouette against a fiery inferno.

Harry flung himself forward, tackling him. " _Aguamenti,_ " he grunted, but no water was forthcoming, so he put out the smouldering robes the Muggle way, rolling over Snape and slapping at them until they’d been sufficiently smothered and Snape shoved him away.

"I’m fine, Potter!" he insisted, despite his appearance and the stench of burnt hair which hung in the night air. Harry helped the man to his feet. "We’re too late," Severus said in a flat voice, staring at the roaring blaze. Flames leapt into the sky, malicious and triumphant.

A figure emerged, hurrying away from the house, and Harry leapt to accost the man. "You did this," he raged, hands fisted tight in the Minister’s robes.

"I did this," Scrimgeour affirmed grimly.

"Why?"

"I didn’t want another Dark Lord. I couldn’t leave it to chance. I had to take steps," the man explained. "You’re too powerful—much too powerful—and Snape’s too devious. He wiggled out of the noose, with Dumbledore’s help, but he knew all the Dark Lord’s best tricks. You’re a danger to Wizarding society—both of you."

" _We’re_ a danger?" Snape gasped, outraged. "Will you look at my bloody house? Then take a good look in the mirror, you deranged politician! _You’re_ the one out of his sodding mind!"

Scrimgeour laughed. "Prove it! No one will ever listen to _you_ , and as soon as that house has fallen, Potter won’t have magic anymore. It will be easy to take him out. I’ll tell everyone you were to blame. No one will even know the difference."

" _I’ll_ know," a new voice spoke up, dark and angry. Harry’s head whipped around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt—the snap of the flames had covered the ‘pop’ of his Apparition. He stepped forward to stand at Severus’ shoulder, his expression hard.

For a moment, Scrimgeour looked shocked, his shaggy brows high. But with the instincts of a fighter, he recovered quickly, drawing his wand. " _No!_ " Harry shouted, lunging for the man’s arm, but the nonverbal curse had already been cast.

Kingsley elbowed Snape out of the way, taking the curse square in his chest. Snape struggled to keep the now-unconscious Auror from falling and cracking his head open on the street while trying to draw his wand. Harry fought with Scrimgeour, pushing the tip of his wand away, and another curse went up, lighting the night sky.

Behind them, Spinners End burned.

Harry fancied he could feel the magic seeping from his bones, bleeding out of his body. He shook his head. He supposed he could live with being a Muggle—he’d lived as one half his life—but what about Snape? To a Slytherin, living without magic was probably worse than death. Harry imagined it was something like getting the Dementors’ kiss. He couldn’t help picturing Severus hunched over, his eyes bleak and blank.

He had to do something.

Before he’d fully formed the thought, Harry had shoved the Minister hard and was sprinting toward the blazing building. " _Reducto!"_ he shouted, pointing his wand at the door, blasting it out of the way.

"Potter!" Snape roared furiously but Harry tuned him out, concentrating on getting into the building before Scrimgeour could hex him.

He had get his hands on that brick; without magic, they couldn’t possibly fight Scrimgeour. Part of the ceiling caved in with an almighty crash, and he pressed his back against the wall, inching past the charred wreckage. The smoke was thick and acrid; he pulled his robes up to cover his mouth and nose. Eyes streaming, he managed to make it to the study.

A whip-crack sounded over the noise of the fire, and Scrimgeour stalked forward through black smoke, his mane of hair singed, his yellowish eyes wild. "Oh, no, Potter," he growled. "I’ve worked too hard for this. I finally had everything just as I wanted it; the world was _safe._ "

Harry tried to dodge around the Minister, but Scrimgeour grabbed hold of his robes, yanking him back. Harry fought him, but a hacking cough erupted from his chest, preventing him from managing any spells. Strong hands wrapped around his throat.

"I’ll help you with that cough," Scrimgeour growled.

Everything was beginning to go black. With a quick, desperate movement, Harry stabbed at the man’s face with his wand. Scrimgeour turned his head, his hands loosening just enough for Harry to gasp. " _Ac—accio—brick,"_ he choked out.

There was a grating noise, and Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the wall beside them crash inward.

OoOoOoOoO

 

"Over here! I found a body!"

"Don’t look, Hermione!"

"Oh, my god! It isn’t Harry, is it? Is it?"

Snape felt suddenly weak. The remains of Spinners End were still smoking in the early morning light as Aurors combed through the wreckage, looking for survivors. Looking for fallen heroes.

Weasley was bending over, inspecting the body.

"It isn’t Potter," Snape insisted hoarsely. "I know it isn’t."

"You wouldn’t know," Weasely replied. "You can’t feel each other’s presence or anything."

Snape turned on him, grabbing him by the robes and yanking him forward so that their noses nearly touched. "I just know!" he snarled.

"Stop it," Hermione ordered. "Or I’ll call the other Aurors over to keep you two apart."

Giving her a dark look, Snape reluctantly let go of Ron. "You shouldn’t even be here," he told her. "You’re not authorized."

"Neither are you!" Ron retorted. "We have a right to be here, because we care about Harry. We’re his friends! What are _you_?"

"I’m his—we’re—partners," Snape spluttered. "We share a bond. And he isn’t dead," he insisted.

"All right," Hermione murmured, trying to placate the man. Weasley went back to doing his job, inspecting the body.

"Blimey! Do you know who this is? Some of the—er—hair is still intact," Ron exclaimed. "Look! Er—you don’t have to, Hermione. Trust me, you don’t want to see this."

Peering cautiously over Weasley’s shoulder, Snape saw the very unpleasant remains of Rufus Scrimgeour. "He must have been trying to intercept Potter," he muttered. "And got caught in an explosion of his own making."

"But what about Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice wavering just a little.

A nearby pile of bricks coughed.

Snape flung himself to his knees, digging into the rubble with his hands as Ron stood behind him, level-headedly levitating them away. "I see something," Snape rasped. "It’s—it looks like a leg!"

Hermione began helping, too, the three wizards feverishly dismantling the mound of debris. It shifted a little, and a small landslide of broken bricks and stones went skittering away as Harry lifted his head.

"Healer!" Hermione screamed. "Don’t move him—we don’t want to injure him further—someone get a Healer or a mediwizard here _right now!_ "

"Whew, she’s loud when she’s panicked," Harry said in a strangled voice. Snape brushed the fringe out of his eyes; he was bleeding from the forehead. Hermione spotted someone who seemed to be in charge and hauled Ron off to demand assistance.

"You absolute _idiot,_ " Snape spat. "Why the bloody hell did you go rushing into an exploding building? Sometimes I think your main reason for being put on this earth was to cause migraines, strokes and impotency."

"Oh, now that last one’s unfair."

"Infuriating little bastard," Snape grumbled.

"Shacklebolt?"

"Is fine," Snape told him, relenting a bit.

Harry blinked. His glasses were gone, and he looked very lost and vulnerable without them. "It’s all rubble," he mumbled in a husky voice. "It’s all gone. I’m a complete failure."

To Snape’s horror, Harry seemed to be getting teary, his eyes glistening. "What arrogance! And I suppose Rome fell because you weren’t around to stop it? Let the blame lay with Scrimgeour, where it belongs. And at least we’re still alive."

Potter looked up, face twisted with a pain Snape knew had nothing to do with his injuries. "But...we lost everything. Our magic, the house, the bond...." Severus found that his chest ached with an all too familiar mix of grief and regret. He reproached himself silently; he ought to be glad to get rid of Potter, at least. Potter would certainly be glad to get rid of him. He’d probably never have to see the boy again... Funny how that only seemed to twist the cold, sharp knife of pain in his stomach a little deeper.

Potter made a small noise, an almost inaudible mewl escaping from a throat tight with frustration and loss, and he turned his head to Snape’s chest. Taken aback, Severus tried to find somewhere to pat the boy that wouldn’t compound any injuries. "Your bird escaped," he said, fumbling for words that would seem helpful. "She’s fine. She pecked the hell out of me when I tried to capture her, though. You’ve probably got a concussion. Not that anyone would be able to tell if you’d been knocked stupid. At any rate, it will all seem better when the Healers have seen to you..."

"Yeah," Harry said dully.

Hermione hurried over, leading a Healer, and Ron and Snape stepped back as Harry was checked over, his more serious injuries taken care of on the spot.

"Help me get him on the stretcher," the Healer said. "We’ll have a closer look at St. Mungo’s and run some tests."

Snape stepped back as the Healer levitated the boy. As Harry’s body rose into the air, something fell away with a _thunk._ Snape looked down. On the ground was one whole, undamaged brick. "Must have been caught in his robes," the Healer said, unimpressed.

Severus knelt, pressing his hand to the stone. It was warm, and seemed to thrum slightly, sending one pure, musical note straight to his soul. He met Harry’s eyes and he smiled slightly.

"But...how do you know it’s the right brick?" Harry asked plaintively.

Hermione had grabbed Ron’s arm and was holding it tightly, looking very excited. "It doesn’t have to be the right brick," she explained. "Once the stone was set on the hearth, the magic spread to all of them. He must have meant it to weaken you, but it also served to multiply the target by thousands. One stone survived, and that’s all that was needed. The bond is still intact. And your magic."

Harry smiled a little, relieved. "You’ll take good care of it until I’m better?" he asked Snape.

Snape nodded. "Until you’re ready to come home. And unless you infuriate me to the extent that I kill you myself," he added as an afterthought.

OoOoOoOoO

 

"You look...very dashing," Severus said, straightening Harry’s collar.

Harry ducked his head. "Better than a white dress," he mumbled.

"Then be grateful it’s a housewarming party, and not another wedding ceremony."

"Non-traditional, magical and civil ceremony uniting two people," Harry corrected automatically, turning his head from right to left as he looked in the mirror.

"Yes, yes. It’s a mercy we’ll never have to go through _that_ again," Snape commented. "Are you about ready?"

"Almost," Harry replied, fussing with his hair. "I should have asked Hermione for some of that Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Why does it always have to look as though I just got out of bed after having slept on it wrong all night?"

"You look fine," Snape told him in exasperation. "Your hair is perfect, your eyes are bright, your waist is trim, and no, those robes don’t make your bum look big."

Harry blinked, craning his neck a little. "What? Are you sure? I hadn’t even thought about that!"

"Will you stop this nonsense?"

"Why did you even bring it up, if it wasn’t true?" Harry demanded.

"Quit stalling," Snape replied firmly. "Everyone’s waiting for us."

Harry’s shoulders slumped. "Oh, all right. It’s only that I hate crowds. I’m also not wild about ceremonies performed by Ministers of Magic."

"I imagine this one will be safe enough."

Nodding a little, Harry allowed himself a small smile. "I guess you’re right. Kingsley will make a good Minister." He held out his arm to Snape. "Shall we go?"

They arrived at the new house just in time to meet Draco. "Next time you’re going to duck out early on a commitment to me, make sure your excuse is more believable than, ‘The Minister of Magic has gone mad and wants to kill me,’" he said. "And never arrive after me again. I’ve been standing out here for at least ten minutes."

"Why?" Harry asked, baffled.

Draco looked irritated. "Because I have to arrive fashionably late and make an _entrance,_ " he explained.

Snape shook his head. "It’s a Malfoy idiosyncrasy," he said. "They’ll do anything to be the centre of attention."

Harry shrugged. "Well, he’s welcome to it. I hate people looking at me."

"Potter, there is something seriously wrong with you," Draco told him disbelievingly.

"Attention comes with people wanting to kill me," Harry argued.

"Boys. Let’s go inside," Snape said, quelling the dispute. He opened the door and ushered them through. Draco went first, of course.

"You really never...?" Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"No. He’s attractive, but inane. It was nice to have him around, in a decorative sense, but...look at it this way; he’s like frost on a window pane. You glance at it and say, ‘Oh, isn’t that lovely?’ and then you move on. Because you can't do much with it in any case except to look; it's deadly dull after a few moments, and if you try to get close enough to touch it, you find..."

Harry smiled sweetly and tacked on, "It turns into nothing but a drip."

"Not the way I would have put it, but at least you've grasped the general idea."

The Weasleys and Hermione were all there, beaming at Harry. Remus and Tonks were also there, as well as Hagrid and some of Harry’s school friends, all looking pleased to have been invited.

Kingsley stood beside an enormous hearth, looking snappy in robes of royal blue. He smiled widely at Harry. "Hey, there! Finally, the new homeowners have arrived."

Harry grinned and shook the man’s hand, and even Snape summoned a nod of recognition. "Can we get this spectacle over with?"

"Why?" Harry asked. "I’ll just invite them all over again for brunch and dinner parties," he said.

Snape groaned.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "I think we’re ready," he said. He smiled at everyone and added, "I’ve prepared a little speech." This time, both Harry and Snape groaned, and Kingsley made an impatient motion at them. "It won’t take long."

"It had better not," Snape muttered, and Harry nudged him a little.

"We gather, like our ancestors did long ago, round the hearth—the heart of the home," Shacklebolt began, pretending he hadn’t heard. "We came to the fire to cook, to warm ourselves, to pass on our culture through stories and song. We came for protection. We came because it held us to each other.

Our hearths grew from simple, flat stones to towering constructions, monuments to warmth and light. So has civilisation grown; like any good relationship, into something often complicated, something that takes more than mortar and bricks to hold together."

"Yes. Sometimes in our case, it requires handcuffs on the headboard, but that’s neither here nor there," Snape injected dryly.

Kingsley pinned the man with a warning look. "Belt up, you," he said affably. "I spent half the night writing this; it’s my first public speech and I don’t need your input. Where was I? Right, right; if someone had told me at the beginning that Harry and Snape would not only survive Voldemort, but each other, and build a life together..." Kingsley shook his head a bit with a half-smile. "I have to confess that I wouldn’t have believed it. And yet, even while their magic seemed to die, somehow their tie strengthened; as the magic trickled from one brick to many, their relationship grew—in fits and starts, slowly."

"Like a bacterial culture," Snape muttered. Harry trod heavily on his foot, and he subsided.

"Anyway, they did an amazing job. They saved their magic and each other, and exposed a madman. For that we owe them a debt of gratitude."

"Again," Harry sighed.

Severus snorted loudly over the polite applause of the audience. "I never intended to save Potter," he insisted. "I wanted my magic, and Potter merely happened to live through the experience."

Kingsley smiled, his face bland. "This hearth is nearly finished. It lacks only one stone, and the spell, which I’m about to perform, to set it." He reached for the mantle where a blackened brick sat stolidly, and bent to slide it into place. "There," he said with satisfaction.

He took a breath, raising his wand high to manipulate the protective energy he was generating. White light streamed from his wand, pouring to the floor, rushing and rolling over the hearthstones, off onto the carpet, slipping under the audience’s feet and leaving them tingling. The light encompassed the room, crawled up the walls and spread across the ceiling until they seemed to be standing in a room of pure, scintillating whiteness. Then the magic began to seep into the foundations of the house, leaving the various surfaces glimmering for just a second or two longer.

For a moment, the new Minister looked tired, but then he managed a smile. "I’ve sealed it off for good, now. Nothing will ever hurt that stone—or this house."

Harry grinned, leaning on Snape’s arm. "Thank you. It’s a good home," he added quietly.

"Yes," Snape agreed. "I suppose. It has the right sort of foundation."

The room applauded again, loudly.

Afterward, when Draco had everyone sufficiently distracted by regaling them with daring (and mostly exaggerated, when not downright false) tales of how he repeatedly undermined Voldemort, Snape looked around and found Harry missing from the group. He spotted the boy at the window, leaning against the frame and gazing outside.

Severus joined him, looking over his shoulder. "It’s snowing," he commented, watching the fat, feathery flakes light upon the glass and melt.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?"

Snape grunted noncommittally. He stared at the window, seeing the firelight reflected there, orange and red, cheerful and soothing, unlike the uncontrollable blaze that had brought down Spinners End. And there, too, was a reflection of Harry’s face, eyes softened by contentment.

Harry leaned back against Snape’s taller body, resting comfortably against his chest. Snape allowed this, not shifting away, though he made no move to return the gesture. Harry grabbed one of Snape’s arms and wrapped it around him, ignoring the man’s indignant splutter. "Come on, admit it," he persisted. "It’s pretty out."

"I beg to differ. It looks cold," Severus retorted. "And nothing but."

Harry grinned. "Glad we’re nice and warm in here, then," he said, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I’d rather be nice and warm and in bed, without all these people around," Snape replied.

Harry’s grin widened. "I’d rather be nice and warm and in bed _with you,_ without all these people around," he anted.

A slightly wicked smile played on the edges of Snape’s mouth as he leaned down to breathe in Harry’s ear, "I’d rather be nice and warm and in bed with you, without all these people around, slipping into the tight heat of your body, listening to the throaty whimpers you make when I stroke your cock." Harry looked away, laughing a little, but in the reflective surface of the window, Snape could see that his cheeks were bright with embarrassment. Severus ran a finger down Harry’s cheek. "Vermillion," he said smugly.

Harry sighed, a sound infused with satisfaction. "Vermillion," he parroted agreeably.  
  
**_(The End.)_**


End file.
